


Inclinations Toward Cleanliness

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will comes in soaked with blood; Hannibal bathes him and washes the blood away. Also trying out a new style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inclinations Toward Cleanliness

Will feels light-headed, and yet his body is heavy; he feels so very  _weighted_ as he falls against Hannibal, but the other man is strong, and he can carry Will well enough. Will is drenched, and perhaps that is what makes him so terribly heavy - blood is thicker than water, after all, and it has more weight for that sake.

Hannibal is removing his clothes as Will becomes a rag doll, limp as he drops slowly back into the seat Hannibal has coaxed him into. The clothes are soon gone, and he is cold, but then Hannibal is lifting him again 

_{is this a dream}_

and Will is dropping down, down,  _so_  far down into hot water and steam - it’s a bath, a hot bath, and it is scented with something exquisite, some unknown smell that Will has not learned the name of but has learned to associate with Hannibal,

_{it feels like a dream}_

and the scent is very pleasant, filling his nostrils and affecting him to relaxation. He lies back in the white tub as the water becomes tinged a coppery rust, and he breathes in, filing his lungs with that scent, and with the steam that clears his sinuses.

He no longer smells blood.

                                           _{he smells hannibal}_

Will’s head lolls back, and he still feels light and airy, detached from the world as if he is dreaming - but is he? No. He is not dreaming. 

_{is hannibal lecter a dream}_

_{or is he a nightmare}_

Hannibal’s right hand is on him, a strong hand holding a sponge that is soaked in some soap or other: the left touches the side of the bath as if Hannibal is grounding himself there. Hannibal is clothed, wearing white shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled to the elbow.

Will cannot see Hannibal, because he cannot quite muster the energy to turn his head just slightly to the side, for it is so very heavy, so weighted. 

_{is it weighted with his sins perhaps}_

_{as anubis’ scales of justice}_

_{will’s sins would outweigh the feather}_

But he knows that if he did look, he would like the sight.

"Are you washing me of my sins?" Will asks, and his lips move so easily, without the difficulty washing over the rest of his form. 

"What is sin, even in God’s eyes?" Hannibal’s answering question is swift to come, and with a tremendous effort, Will turns his neck, and he looks at Hannibal. He feels the sponge against his skin, hot, steaming, rubbing suds of sweet-smelling soap into his pores.

"An evil thing."

"We have had this discussion before, Will. You and I struggle where evil is concerned." Will wants to laugh in the face of that statement, but he is too heavy to do so. He closes his eyes.

          _{darkness}_

_{heat}_

_{hannibal}_

_{this is all he needs}_

He focuses upon the other man’s hands, the way they rub, over his chest, down lower, his stomach, his thighs, his calves - he is not too tall a man, and he fits comfortably in Hannibal’s bathtub. 

"Lie down." Will is lying down, but he understands; he shifts forwards that he might dip his head below the water, for only a few moments, and then a tap to his shoulder tells him to raise himself again.

Hannibal’s hands begin to rub through Will’s beard, his hair - there is shampoo, Will smells it; it does not carry the scent of the bathwater and the soap, it is different, clinical. Will dislikes it, but he does not complain. 

"Again." Will soaks in the water, below the surface. Hannibal’s hands are rubbing at his thighs, and Will feels the beginnings of arousal, the beginnings of those particular tingles up his thighs, up a little higher. He is under for longer, this time, far longer.

  _{he cannot breathe}_

_{he needs to breathe}_

_{hannibal’s hand is on his chest}_

_**{heavy}**_

Hannibal releases the splayed hand over his sternum, and he taps Will’s shoulder again. He rises from the water gasping for his breaths, his eyes opening wide - Hannibal is watching him, with a slight quirk to those calculated lips. 

How strange it is, that such things as murder have become flirtations between the two of them. 

"You are clean." Hannibal murmurs, meeting Will’s eyes in a way Will likes. He enjoys Hannibal’s gaze on him. 

                              _{you cannot wash me of my sins}_

"Yes." Will murmurs, and he leans forwards, seeking out the silver chain he needs, and he pulls. A gurgle. The water begins to drain from the bath, with its coppery swirl. 

_{but what are sins}_

Hannibal stands to get a towel, and Will watches his back, keeps an eye on the powerful muscle beneath the white fabric of that shirt.

_{and how good are baths at cleansing anyway}_

"Would you like to go to bed, Will?" That is a flirtation that is more  _regular._ But for that, it is impersonal, is it not?

"So long as our baser instincts are involved." Hannibal chuckles. Will steps from the bath, takes the towel, wrap himself in it - he is dripping, but that is no matter.

"Of course, Will." Yes. Will likes this.


End file.
